


Legal Cause

by YumYumPM



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-14
Updated: 2014-01-14
Packaged: 2018-01-08 18:10:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1135824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YumYumPM/pseuds/YumYumPM
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Napoleon gets an unexpected call for his partner - one that finds him in church - crashing a wedding?<br/>Previously Published in The YumYum Affairs Collection</p>
            </blockquote>





	Legal Cause

“If anyone present can show just and legal cause why they may not be joined, let them speak now or forever hold their peace.”

  
“I…excuse me…I wish to say something.”

  
The entire congregation turned toward the speaker, including the would-be bride and groom.

  
“It just so happens that he’s been my partner for a good ten years,” Napoleon spoke nothing but the truth.

  
Illya Kuryakin, the groom, covered his eyes. “Oh, Napoleon,” he moaned.

  
The bride pulled her veil back and stared at her husband-to-be. “Illya?” she asked in disbelief, before smacking him across the face and gathering her gown to storm down the aisle.

  
++++

“Did you have to imply that we were lovers?” Illya complained as he shut the door to the hotel suite.

  
“I never said that. Can I help it if that’s what she assumed?” Napoleon’s eyes looked appreciatively around the suite. Spotting the bottle of champagne, he pulled it out of the bucket and studied the label. “I wasn’t sure what to expect when I got your SOS,” he said as he popped the cork. He reached for one of the crystal flutes and tilted it as he poured the champagne.

  
Loosening his tie, Illya reached for the glass. The two had managed to make good their escape from the church in their usual style after not having seen each other for over five years. After a quick discussion, they’d decided that no one would bother to look for them in the Honeymoon Suite.

  
“Okay spill,” Napoleon ordered. “How on earth did you get into this mess? I’m, of course, assuming you really didn’t want to marry her.”

  
Draining his glass, Illya plopped down on the sofa and let his head drop back to rest against the cushion as he looked up at the ceiling. “I’m not really sure. What happened I mean.”

  
Napoleon settled on the sofa next to him, keeping the champagne bottle close at hand after he refilled Illya’s glass. “So how did the two of you meet?”

  
Illya’s brow wrinkled. “I don’t remember,” he admitted as he shook his head, searching his memories. “That’s not quite true. For almost a year she was always somewhere on the peripheral of my vision.”

  
Napoleon raised an eyebrow.

  
Draining another glass of champagne, Illya continued, “When I was doing things other than work related-shopping, going to the library, things like that. Then six months ago we … sort of bumped into each other.”

  
“And that didn’t strike you as odd?”

  
“Napoleon, neither one of us has been out in the field for years.”

  
“So that’s an excuse for you to become a bridegroom, her’s especially?”

  
Illya dropped his head in embarrassment. He started to chew on his lower lip, his blue eyes peeking through his blond bangs.

  
Napoleon smiled and brushed the long strands back. “Your hair is getting much too long, Tovarish.”

  
“And yours isn’t,” Illya smirked.

  
Napoleon ignored that statement and continued to stroke Illya’s hair, almost without thinking. “Why is it we never did anything? There were rumor’s enough,” he mused softly. He poured more champagne.

  
Illya’s head fell back against the sofa again and he laughed. “If I didn’t know better I would think you were propositioning me.”

  
Napoleon looked startled as if he were coming out of a trance. He considered what he’d said and responded with. “And what if I were?”

  
The champagne was very good and Illya was just drunk enough, uninhibited enough to actually consider it. “Let’s go check out the bedroom,” he murmured.

 

A week later the two men passed up Del Floria’s Cleaners and rounded the corner to the Mask Club, the special entrance for agents no longer being available to them. Five years previous Napoleon had reached the mandatory retirement age for agents and Illya had the following year. Napoleon had moved up to Section 1, Number 2 and traveled the world. Illya helped train the new agents fresh out of Survival School, his specialty being explosives. Though they had tried to keep in touch it hadn’t worked what with them going off in different directions. In fact it had been two years since the two of them had been in New York at the same time.

  
As in old times, Napoleon leaned over to have the receptionist pin on his badge, while Illya helped himself.

  
“Mr. Kuryakin, you are wanted in medical,” the receptionist informed them, not looking either man in the eye.

  
Puzzled looks were exchanged between Illya and Napoleon. Medical was where staff went for cuts and scrapes; anything major and one was sent to the hospital. As they walked through the hallways they could feel the hostility all around them.

  
“Word gets around fast,” Napoleon murmured.

  
“You’re attendance was not requested,” Illya reminded him. “You don’t have to come with me.”

  
Napoleon ignored him and they both waited for the door to slide open. They blinked in surprise to find two guards standing just inside the door. The nurse sitting at the desk looked up, her professional smile changing to a frown. “Mr. Solo, you don’t have to be here.”

  
“Why does everyone tell me that?” Napoleon wondered, flashing his most flattering grin. Oh well, she was smiling when they had arrived, things couldn’t be too bad.

  
A new doctor came out, one neither of them had seen before. “Mr. Kuryakin?”

  
Illya raised his hand. “That would be me.”

  
“Come this way.”

  
The two of them started to follow, but the guard blocked Napoleon from going further. This was beginning to piss Napoleon off, but he only became more polite. He sat down in one of the waiting room chairs as if he didn’t have a worry in the world, which in reality he didn’t. He picked up one of the magazines and skipped through it, while he tried to place the names of the guards.

  
Once he had, he slapped the magazine closed. “So. Bob, how’s the wife and kiddies?”

  
The guard in question’s facial expression cracked a little. This he wasn’t expecting. He hadn’t been told much, but what he had heard wasn’t good. The other guard just glared at him, his mouth shut grimly in a slim line.

  
Twenty minutes later, Illya walked out with the doctor. The doctor was going through a clipboard full of papers and appeared puzzled. The phone rang and the nurse picked it up, listened, and then handed the phone to the doctor.

  
“No, sir. I’ve examined him thoroughly. Did an extensive physical. There was no sign…” The doctor appeared to be losing his cool. “Yes, sir.” He handed the phone to Napoleon.

  
“Solo, here.” He waited to hear whose voice was on the other line. “Mr. Waverly?” Waverly’s voice sounded distressed. “Could you please tell me what the hell is going on?” One brow raised. “Oh.” Napoleon hung up the phone, trying hard not to laugh. He cleared his throat. “Somehow, there is a rumor being spread that you and I are in a homosexual relationship,” he managed to say to his partner without giggling, which is what he felt like doing.

  
“How ludicrous,” Illya said drily.

  
“Look, if it will make anybody feel better, you can run the same tests on me?” Napoleon offered, though he knew the results would be totally different. If anyone had asked him two weeks ago he would have told them no way. It had been an intensive two weeks, finding out that he, Napoleon Solo was, what was it called? A nelly bottom, and that he enjoyed being one. They had known this might come up, just not this soon, and had prepared for it.

  
“This is ridiculous. Do you honestly think that Mr. Solo, with his reputation, would possibly…” Illya ranted.

  
“I really don’t mind,” Napoleon said mildly.

  
The four other members of the room exchanged glances. The doctor put his glasses into the pocket of his white smock. “No, I don’t think we’ll have to do that.”

  
++++

  
“What would you have done if he’d have said yes,” Illya asked.

  
Napoleon shrugged. “I don’t like hiding. I would hope it wouldn’t matter--there has got to be a clause somewhere in our contracts about this sort of thing--and if it did I’d just find another job where it didn’t. Maybe something in the legal profession.”

  
Illya shook his head. Napoleon forever the optimist. They made a great pair. With a twinkle in his eye Illya asked, “So what you’re saying is unless someone can show legal cause as to why we cannot be joined…” he cast an appreciative eye at Napoleon’s delectable butt. “they had better hold their peace?”


End file.
